


okay

by queerly_yours



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Feelings, First Kiss, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:29:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5200805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_yours/pseuds/queerly_yours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson plans to slip away in the middle of the night. The pack won’t miss him. Lydia has moved on with Allison and he couldn’t blame her. Derek left to find Cora, who somehow got a message sent to him that she was in trouble and needed his help. Boyd, Erica, and Isaac were off practically in their own pack. Scott…well, Scott is a True Alpha now, whatever that means. And Stiles…</p>
<p>Stiles is here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	okay

**Author's Note:**

> i had this thing about 200 words with the words "don't go" as the header when i found it abandoned. i'm fairly certain it was a prompt. if it was you, i hope that you like it. 
> 
> if i missed any tags, let me know!

Jackson plans to slip away in the middle of the night. The pack won’t miss him. Lydia has moved on with Allison and he couldn’t blame her. Derek left to find Cora, who somehow got a message sent to him that she was in trouble and needed his help. Boyd, Erica, and Isaac were off practically in their own pack. Scott…well, Scott is a True Alpha now, whatever that means. And Stiles…

Stiles is _here_.

“Whittemore, I know that you’re in there,” Stiles growls at the closed front door as he pounds his fists on the aged wood. Jackson can hear him clearly, even through the hard slap of rain on the roof.

When he realizes Stiles isn’t leaving, he sighs in resignation, but he can’t deny the small flutter of _something_ swirling in his belly. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters as he descends the stairs two at a time to the kitchen where his nose is assaulted with the sour stench of anxiety. But there’s an underlying scent of hope hanging there too, and his stomach clenches.

Jackson steels himself, resting his head on the doorframe, before wrenching open the door to find a drenched Stiles, dark t-shirt sticking to his lithe form, accentuating the dips of his collarbone, where Jackson has imagined running his tongue over, his muscular arms that he has dreamt about holding him down, and those hipbones…

“Did you even hear me?” Stiles huffs, annoyed, though a glimmer of amusement shines through those whiskey colored eyes at Jackson’s obvious staring.

Jackson shakes his head, a slight blush creeping up his neck at being caught. The rain is falling sideways, some is stopped by Stiles, some creeps into the kitchen forming a small puddle at Jackson’s bare feet. He hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re letting it rain in my kitchen,” Jackson grouses as he grabs Stiles by the arm. “Come inside.”

Stiles allows for himself to be pulled into the kitchen, his sneakered feet squeaking on the hard wood floors. Jackson closes the door behind them and it feels final, like this is it, the final countdown, the last moment they’ll have together and it burns like acid in his gut.

He turns around to face Stiles, but he is looking at the ground, worrying at his bottom lip, so Jackson leans back against the door, fingers picking at the ragged hem of his hoodie. The words stick in his throat, but he gets them out at the same time as Stiles. “Don’t go,” they say in unison. Stiles’ words quiet and sincere, Jackson’s desperate, hopeful, wanting.

Their eyes meet, cool blue to warm honey. It’s as if all the air is sucked out of the room, leaving them breathless, and neither of them dare to move. The rain continues its wild descent as time slowly passes. Jackson wonders if he can just stay here with Stiles, outside world be damned. He wants Stiles in ways he never thought he could after Lydia and having him this close makes his chest ache in need.

A bolt of lightning crashes through the night, illuminating the trees and the hills behind the house, and Stiles’ eyes pull away from Jackson to the back window, exposing the pale expanse of his neck to Jackson, the tendons sticking out as he turns his head. Jackson moves in front of Stiles, pulling the attention back to them, and cradles Stiles’ head in his hands.

“Stiles,” Jackson whispers, softly rubbing his thumbs over those sharp cheekbones, taking in every inch of his face because this is a risk that he has to take now. Whatever god or gods there may be, he knows that something led them here to this particular place. Fate, kismet, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that more than anything he wants to feel the warm press of Stiles’ lips before he leaves, if only just this once.

He takes one small step forward, the wood creaking quietly at the movement, and rolls up onto his toes. Stiles’ breath hitches as Jackson leans in close, their lips just a hairbreadth apart, eyes seeking, and asks, “Can I kiss-“

But he doesn’t have time to finish the question before Stiles closes the small distance and kisses him fiercely. A tiny “oomph” escapes Jackson at the contact. They’re both still for a moment, lips pressed together roughly, eyes closed, before Stiles starts to pull back, a little unsure of himself. Jackson hears the slight uptick in his heartbeat of uncertainty and chases his lips, chapped from nervous chewing, and kisses him softly, their lips moving in tandem, rhythmically and slow, still feeling each other out.

When Jackson’s tongue licks at the seam of Stiles’ lips, Stiles parts them on a moan, pulling Jackson’s hips flush with his own. Jackson smiles into the kiss and walks Stiles backwards up against the wall. He pulls away from Stiles’ lips to pepper kisses along his jaw and down to his throat, resting his face at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, breathing the _happycinnamonrelievedapple_ smell deeply. Stiles whines, canting his hips, and Jackson huffs out a laugh, starts nipping at Stiles’ throat.

“Jackson,” Stiles breathes, his fingers grappling at Jackson’s hair, his shoulders, anywhere, as teeth sink into his neck. “God, _please_.”

He nips once at Stiles’ jaw then takes his mouth with a hot, wet kiss, their hips rolling together. Stiles snakes his hands under his hoodie and moans appreciatively when he notices there’s nothing beneath it. He dips a hand down into the back pockets of Jackson’s jeans, squeezing through the fabric, making Jackson’s hips stutter.

“Fuck,” Jackson moans into the kiss, they’re doing barely more than panting into each other’s open mouths at this point. “Bed.”

“Couch,” Stiles replies, knowing the bed is too far.

Jackson dips down and picks him up, wrapping Stiles’ legs around his hips. Stiles folds his arms over Jackson’s shoulders and sinks his teeth into the tendon at his neck, enjoying the intake of breath Jackson takes. Then, from one moment to the next, he’s on his back and Jackson’s clothed erection is pressed firmly against his own.

Stiles rolls his hips and reaches between them to Jackson’s jeans, fumbles with the button, but Jackson bats his hand away and flicks the button with on hand and works the fly down. Stiles’ skinny fingers slip down the front of his black boxer briefs and free his cock, moaning in appreciation at the sight. He rubs his thumb over the glistening head, takes his thumb and licks off the slick.

“God, Stiles, fuck,” Jackson moans, pressing his body against Stiles. He sucks on Stiles’ bottom lip and yanks down the zipper to his damp khakis, actually popping the button off. “Sorry,” he murmurs against Stiles’ open mouth, pulling Stiles’ hard length out of his boxers.

Stiles is beyond words at this point, meaningless “mmphs” and moans escape his lips as they roll their hips against each other, Jackson cupping his neck and Stiles running his deft hands along Jackson’s back. It’s going to hurt later, they both know that, but they can’t stop, too worried that if they do, they’ll never have this chance again. They don’t need words to communicate that, so they don't, simply enjoying what they can give each other.

“Jackson, I-“ Stiles pants and Jackson pulls back just enough to look down as he lets go, come splattering between them. Jackson rolls his hips once more against Stiles’ softening cock and Stiles squirms. He takes one hand, runs it through Stiles’ come, and strokes himself three times before he’s coming on Stiles.

He collapses on top of Stiles, tucking his head to the side of Stiles’ throat. They’re both breathing hard. Stiles sweeps his fingers along Jackson’s lower back, hums contentedly. “Jacks,” he murmurs, rubbing his cheek on Jackson’s head, now damp with sweat.

Jackson nuzzles closer, swipes his tongue along Stiles’ pulse point. “Hm?”

Stiles’ heartbeat stutters then sprints. “I-I meant it. What I said earlier. Don’t-please don’t go. I can’t-“ he falters, letting out a long breath.

Jackson pushes up, meets Stiles’ eyes. “Stiles,” he says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I never wanted to leave. I just don’t feel like I belong here anymore.”

Stiles huffs out a breath. “You belong _here_ ,” he answers simply, pulling Jackson’s hand to his heart.

Jackson’s eyes glow blue in response, his heart feels too full, the raw emotion too much to bear.

“I mean it,” Stiles says. “I’ve already told Scott about my feelings for you. He told me that you were pack no matter where you go.” Stiles grins. “Scales and all.”

Jackson groans and rolls his eyes, back to their normal and exquisite shade of blue, at Stiles. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” he whines, laying his forehead down on Stiles’ own, but he’s grinning now too.

“Nope, lizard boy,” Stiles laughs. “Never.”

They stay there, pressed together chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, for what seems like only minutes, but the soft light of dawn is creeping through the windows, sending warm sunshine cascading over them, and they realize it’s been hours since Jackson pulled Stiles in, to his home and to his heart.

And he doesn’t want to let him go.

“Okay,” Jackson whispers into Stiles’ chest.

The sweet scent of happiness blooms in the morning air as Stiles holds Jackson just that much closer and replies with thrill and relief, “Okay.”  

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://thegirlwholovedeverything.tumblr.com/)


End file.
